Sawbones

by Melissa Lenhardt

A thump against the outside wall woke me.

  I took a deep breath to still my galloping heart. Jacksboro was full of men in for the trial. The sounds of the revelers could be heard through the thin walls of the house at all hours of the night. Most like, a drunk was stumbling around the alleyways, whistling his way back to whichever tent he was paying an exorbitant amount to pass out in. My guard walked down the dog-run in the middle of the house and out the back door to check on the noise.

  I leaned over to turn the lamp down when I heard a female voice.

  “Hey, Ralph.”

  “Adella. What are you doin’ out here?”

  “Come to see you.”

  “I’m on duty.”

  “Guarding a killer. She ain’t got no gun in there, does she? Might decide to put a bullet in your head. Or hit you with a fireplace poker. She’s a manhater, and that’s for sure.”

  Ralph laughed. “She ain’t got no weapon. Besides, she’s so doped up she couldn’t aim and shoot the side of a barn. I’m protecting her from bounty hunters.”

  The latch on my door clicked and rose. My heart leapt into my throat and I searched the room frantically for a weapon, and settled on a fireplace poker across the room. I almost laughed out loud at the irony.

  The door opened slowly. Though my lamp was low, Harriet Mackenzie’s silhouette was plain. Relieved, I sat up. Harriet put her finger to her lips to silence me, and crept into the room.

  “Share a cigar with me, Ralph?” Adella said.

  Harriet placed a bundle of men’s clothes on the bed, reached for my hands. She took me in, from my bruised face, broken nose, bandaged hands, the wounds she couldn’t see, her distress and concern clear. “Quickly.”

  I stood for the first time in days and swooned, my legs hardly strong enough to hold me. Harriet caught me and held me in her strong embrace for a long moment. She whispered, “When I heard of the massacre, I hoped you were dead. I knew what you would endure and couldn’t bear the thought.” She squeezed me tighter, as if she didn’t want to let go. Finally, she released me and held me at arm’s length. “I’ll be damned if you’re going back East to hang for something you didn’t do.”

  “I killed Cotter Black.” My voice was a hoarse whisper.

  Harriet pulled the shift I’d worn for days over my head. Her eyes lingered on the bandage around my chest, the gash on my breast, before returning to my face. “No one will chase you for that.”

  Harriet put a corset around my torso. “Upside down, and backward,” I said, motioning to my breasts. I inhaled sharply through my teeth as she tightened it to flatten my breasts. The cups, which would normally cover my breasts, rested in the small of my back and would be covered by my coat. Harriet handed me a man’s shirt. While I buttoned it, she held open a pair of pants for me to step into. She pulled my hair back, tied it with a ribbon and piled it on top of my head before crushing a hat on top.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To William. Hurry.”

  I tucked my shirt in and cinched the belt. I slipped my feet into the boots Harriet provided and donned the coat. We walked out of the bedroom and closed the door. We paused at the open back door. Harriet placed her finger against her lips.

  “Wanna poke, Ralph?”

  “I should probably get back to—”

  “Aw, come on. It’s the least I could do after smoking your cigar. Or, would you rather me smoke this cigar.”

  Ralph laughed. “All right. Be quick about it.”

  “Come on, then. Don’t want to give the murderer a show.”

  Harriet peeked around the door and motioned for me to follow. A little ways down the alley, Ralph stood with his back to us, his hands pumping Adella’s head against his crotch. Harriet grabbed my good hand and pulled me to the end of the alley and around the corner, heading to the tent city.

  A few drunkards stumbled among the canvas tents. One urinated outside a front flap, shook his dick, and returned to the card game inside, buttoning up as he went. I glanced at Harriet, who was wholly unperturbed by the scene. We walked through the tents and out into the darkness of the open plains. A stab of fear stopped me. Harriet turned. “What is it?”

  My eyes roamed the darkness in front of us. I knew the openness, the savagery beyond the thin line of light we were leaving. The idea of New York City, with its teeming people and constant light, pulled me backward a step.

  “Laura, we have to go.”

  “Why are you doing this for me?”

  Harriet’s shoulders slumped as she sighed and stepped forward. She cradled my face in her hands. “The world needs more women like you, not less.”

  I studied the woman I’d so harshly estimated when we first met. I now saw intelligence, benevolence, and determination.

  I covered her hands with mine. “I misjudged you terribly, Harriet. Can you ever forgive me?”

  When Harriet smiled, it lit up her entire face. “Everyone underestimates me. That’s my biggest strength. Come. William will think we’ve been caught.”

  I let her pull me along by the hand.

  The darkness was so complete I heard the horses before I saw them. Kindle had his back to us, cinching the saddle of a palomino. Harriet released my hand and stopped. I continued forward, hesitantly.

  Kindle jerked the leather strap down, patted the saddle, and turned. Out of uniform he looked diminished, somehow. A close-cut beard shot through with gray mostly covered the scar on his cheek. He looked at my clothes and the hat on my head and grinned. “You look like the orderly who sewed up my face.”

  The tightness, which had been in my chest since Kindle had left me, loosened. “He did a fine job, from what I can see.”

  Kindle rubbed his beard. “This itches like the devil. When we get farther west, I’ll shave it. Can you abide it until then?”

  I nodded, pleased he understood how his appearance might remind me of his brother. “What about your court-martial?”

  Kindle pulled a letter from his inside pocket. “Colonel Mackenzie has given me a pardon.”

  “I didn’t know he had returned.”

  “He hasn’t,” Harriet said. “Stop asking questions and go.”

  “Harriet, you’ll catch hell for this.”

  “I doubt it. When the trial starts, everyone will forget about the deserter and the murderess. Now, go. Get some distance between you and Jacksboro before dawn.”

  “Anna!” I clutched Kindle’s arm. “I can’t leave Anna.”

  “I will take care of her,” Harriet said. “I promise.”

  I sighed in relief. There was no one I would trust more to care for Anna than Harriet Mackenzie. I embraced her. “In different circumstances, I think we would have been great friends.”

  “We are.” She pulled away. “I would ask you where you’re going but it’s best I don’t know.”

  “I hope we meet again one day.”

  “As do I.” Still holding my arms she said, “If you ever need to get in touch with me, for anything, send the letter to New Brighton, New York. It will find me.”

  Kindle stepped forward and kissed Harriet on the cheek. “You’re a remarkable woman, Harriet Mackenzie.”

  She waved him away, but I could see the flush of pleasure his compliment had given her. “Go. Travel fast. Be safe.”

  Kindle handed me the reins to the palomino and mounted his brother’s gray. I mounted my horse and saluted Harriet. She shook her head, laughed, and returned the salute.

  Kindle and I kicked our horses into a canter and rode off into the darkness—and to our uncertain future.

  Author’s Note

  My dad loved watching Westerns. He was partial to John Wayne, but he would watch any Western, any time of day. His favorite, by far, was Lonesome Dove. You knew Henry Whitley liked you if he asked you to “watch a little Lonesome Dove” with him. When he died in 2008, it was the most natural thing in the world for me to honor him by watching his favorite show. That, of course, led to me reading Larry McMurtry’s classic for t
he first time and spending the entire summer watching any and every Western shown on TCM and AMC, which led to me writing a Western.

  Catherine/Laura’s story is framed around historical events in 1871—Sherman’s tour of Texas forts, the Warren Wagon Train Massacre and the resulting shift in the Army’s Indian Policy, Fort Richardson, and the trial of Satanta and Big Tree. I have tried to stay true to the tone, atmosphere, and attitudes of the frontier at the time, but took creative license with some events, specifically the Warren Wagon Train Massacre, to enhance the fictional story I wanted to tell.

  The list of the sources I used while researching Sawbones can be found at melissalenhardt.com.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my agent, Alice Speilburg, for your excellent editorial eye and your all-around awesomeness.

  Thank you to Susan Barnes for helping me find the emotional depth to the story and not shying away from the grit and gore and for your patience, enthusiasm, and hard work. Thank you also to Lindsey Hall, Andromeda Macri, Wendy Chan, and the entire Redhook team, whose excitement for Sawbones came through every interaction and e-mail.

  Thanks to my DFW Writers’ Workshop peeps for listening to numerous versions of the first three chapters until I got it right.

  Thanks to Kenneth Mark Hoover for brainstorming, beta reading, and telling me, “It’s time you learned to finish.” It might be the best advice you’ve ever given me.

  Thank you to my in-laws, Jean and Will Lenhardt, for road-tripping to Palo Duro Canyon with me and braving the one-hundred-plus-degree heat to hike to the Lighthouse rock formation.

  Thanks to Ledawn Webb, Camey Dill, Linda Whitley, and Stephen Whitley for reading early drafts and giving valuable feedback.

  Thank you to Ray Monroe, park ranger at Fort Richardson State Park, for answering historical questions on my many research trips. Any historical inaccuracies not in service to the story are unintentional, and my own.

  And, as always, thank you to the three men in my life, Jay, Ryan, and Jack, for your unwavering love, encouragement, and support. Life with the three of you would be perfect if you’d stop asking me what’s for dinner.

  Meet the Author

  Photo Credit: Stephanie Southard

  MELISSA LENHARDT is on the board of directors for the North Dallas chapter of Sisters in Crime, as well as a member of the DFW Writers’ Workshop. She lives in Texas with her husband and two sons.

  Connect with Melissa online:

  Twitter: @MelLenhardt

  Facebook: Facebook.com/MelissaLenhardtAuthor

  Website: MelissaLenhardt.com

  Reading Group Guide

  When Laura tells Amos Pike she couldn’t kill another man he says:

  “Laura, most everyone comes out here’s got it in them. Only they ain’t been pushed to the point yet.”

  Do you believe that? What situation would drive you to kill another person?

  When Laura first meets Harriet Mackenzie she believes she knows precisely the type of woman Harriet is:

  “I watched Harriet walk away with pity, which I suspected she would loathe. She was a woman with no place, save by her brother’s side. Unmarried and without a profession, she most likely relied on the charity of her brother or surviving parents. Reliance meant subordination. She could not be her own person and, of course, resented a woman like me who could.”

  Were Laura’s first impressions correct, or incorrect? How did your opinion of Harriet, and Laura, change over the course of the book? Do you think your own first impressions are influenced more by your own experiences and opinions or the behaviors of who you’re meeting?

  Laura’s reputation is ruined as much by the implications she was having an affair with a married man as the accusation she killed him. How would the public’s reaction to a similar story be different today? How would it be similar?

  In Palo Duro Canyon, Laura is confronted with the situation Amos Pike alluded to. Were you surprised with her choice? Why or why not? Do you think she was justified? If not, why?

  Though Kindle goes after Cotter Black to save Laura and settle things with his brother, he fails rather spectacularly. Did you expect Kindle to be victorious? Were you disappointed or pleased when Laura ended up being the white knight?

  With Harriet’s assistance, Laura and Kindle escape Jacksboro and are last seen riding off into the moonlight into an uncertain future. What would you like to see happen in the sequel, Blood Oath?

  Who was your favorite character and why?

  Which character would you like to know more about and why?

  If you enjoyed

  SAWBONES,

  look out for

  Blood Oath

  A Laura Elliston Novel

  by Melissa Lenhardt

  We smelled him first.

  “Hail the camp!”

  His appearance was no more or less disheveled and dirty than the other men who happened upon us, but his stench was astonishing, stronger than the smoke from the fire which lit his grimy features. His was not a countenance to inspire confidence in innocent travelers, let alone us. The left side of his face seemed to be sliding down, away from a jutting cheekbone and a brown leather eye patch. When he spoke, only the right side of his mouth moved. Though brief, I saw recognition in his right eye before he assumed the mien of a lonely traveler begging for frontier hospitality always given, often regretted.

  “Saw your fire ’n hoped to share it with you, if I might.”

  “Of course, and welcome,” Kindle said.

  “Enloe’s the name. Oscar Enloe.”

  “Picket your horse, and join us.”

  “Already done. Picketed him back there with yours. Nice gray you got there. Don’t suppose he’s for sale.”

  “Not today.”

  Enloe glanced around the camp, a dry, wide creek bed with steep banks, which offered a modicum of protection from the southern wind gusting across the plains. Our fire flickered and guttered as Enloe sat on the hard, cracked ground with exaggerated difficulty and a great sigh. He placed his rifle across his lap and nestled his saddlebags between his bowed legs.

  “Well, it figures. Every time I see a good piece of horseflesh he’s either not for sale or I don’t have the money. Turns out it’s both in this case.” Enloe’s laugh went up and down the scale before dying away in a little hum. His crooked smile revealed a small set of rotten teeth, which ended at the incisor on the left side. He removed his hat and bent his head to rustle in his saddlebag, giving us a clear view of his scarred, hairless scalp. I cut my eyes to Kindle, and saw the barest of acknowledgments in the dip of his chin. His gaze never left our guest.

  Enloe lifted his head, expecting a reaction, and was disappointed he did not receive one. I imagine he enjoyed telling the story of how he survived a scalping, since so few men did so. I was curious, but held my tongue, as I had every time we met a stranger. Tonight silence was a tax on my willpower, the strongest indication yet that I was slowly coming out of the fog I’d been in for weeks.

  Enloe pulled a jar out of his bag. “Boiled eggs. Bought ’em in Sherman two days ago. Like one?” He motioned to me with the jar. I shook my head no.

  “Doncha speak?”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Kindle said.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s deaf.”

  Enloe’s head jerked back. “Looked like he understood me well enough.”

  “He reads lips.”

  “You don’t say?” Enloe shrugged, as if it wasn’t any business of his. “Want one?”

  “Thank you.”

  Enloe opened the jar, fished out a pickled egg with his dirty hands, and handed it to Kindle, along with the tangy scent of vinegar. Kindle thanked him and ate half in one bite. “What’s the news in Sherman?”

  “Where’d you come from?” Enloe shoved an entire egg in his mouth. I watched in fascination as he ate on one side and somehow managed to keep the egg from falling out of the gaping, unmovable left side.

  “Arkansas. Hea
ding to Fort Worth.”

  “Fort Worth?” He spewed bits of egg out of his mouth; some hung in his beard. “Ain’t nothing worth doing or seeing in Fort Worth. Montana’s where the action is.”

  “I’m not much for prospecting. Looking to get a plot of land and make a go of it.”

  “This here your son?” Enloe’s eye narrowed at me.

  “Brother.”

  “Well, bringing an idiot to the frontier ain’t the smartest thing I ever heard. He won’t be able to hear when the Kioway come raiding, now will he?”

  “I’ve heard tell the Army protects the settlers.”

  Enloe laughed derisively. “Fucking Army ain’t worth a tinker’s damn. Except those niggers. Now, there’s the perfect soldier. Those white officers order them to charge and they do ’cause they’re too stupid to do anything but follow orders blindly. Can’t think for themselves. Redskins mistake it for bravery and won’t go up against them.” The corner of Kindle’s eye twitched and I knew it took all of his willpower to not contradict Enloe.

  Enloe brought out a bottle of whisky, pulled the cork and drank deeply from the corner of his mouth. “If you’re expectin’ the Army to protect you, better turn right around and go back to Arkansas.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re awfully well-spoken for an Arkansan.”

  “Our mother was a teacher.”

  He nodded slowly. “Suppose you’ve heard about the excitement in Fort Richardson.”

  “No.”

  “Surely you heard about the Warren Wagon Train Massacre. You do got papers in Arkansas, dontchee? Suppose not many a you hillbillies can read it.” I doubted Oscar Enloe knew a G from a C.

  “We heard about it,” Kindle said. “Did they catch the Indians?”

  “They did. Sherman himself, though it was pure luck. The redskins were at Sill, bragging about it. Well, Sherman didn’t give a damn about the Indian Peace Policy and arrested ’em. Shocked he didn’t put ’em on trial right there and tighten the noose himself. They sent them to Jacksboro to stand trial. One of ’em tried to get away and was shot in the back. One less redskin to worry about, I say. Other two were convicted, ’course.” Enloe held out his whisky. “Want some?”